The Reclusive Earl
by Rumaan
Summary: Sansa Stark's debut season has taken a turn for a worse until Princess Rhaenys takes an interest along with her enigmatic brother, Lord Snow. Regency AU drabbles
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Thanks to a prompt on tumblr from Maddylonglegs, I've developed a rather elaborate ASOIAF regency AU that is heavily influenced by my love of Georgette Heyer novels. I'm starting to upload all the connecting drabbles here and on AO3 because this world is growing. I currently have things written for two pairings, Jon x Sansa here and Robb x Margaery in a separate story called _The Surprise Match. _I have an overall series name _The Marriage Mart_ and have more pairings brewing in my mind. So if you like this world, please keep an eye out for more. **

**None of these are beta'd so pleased excuse any mistakes. **

**Disclaimer: I am not GRRM and I'm sure he would side-eye my regency AU world.**

* * *

**The Reclusive Earl**

"Jon, I do believe you should be dancing," the familiar voice of his sister Rhaenys said, coming up behind him, where he stood loitering in the refreshment room of Almacks, looking at the meagre fare with ill-disguised distaste. He would have thought somewhere this exclusive could provide better refreshments than tea and thinly sliced bread and butter.

His sister was one of the influential patronesses and had roped him into accompanying her here tonight, as Aegon had a prior private engagement.

"Rhaenys, you know I don't dance."

"Stuff!" his sister said inelegantly, linking her arm through his and dragging him back into the main room. "I have the perfect partner for you."

She waved her hand over to the seats around the room and pointed her fan to a particularly pretty young lady with auburn hair that glinted copper in the candlelight.

"Lady Sansa Stark. She's a debutante this year and this is her first time at Almacks. Poor thing got caught in the coils of the Duke of Kingsland and had no one to warn her that he was just trifling with her affections."

Jon looked over the dancers to see Joffrey Baratheon dancing with the dashing widow, Lady Margaery.

"Quite," Rhaenys said, following his gaze. "Lady Sansa has been quite the rage, but since the Duke's interest has waned, so have several others, keen to be seen to following the fashion. Such a shame, as she's a sweet young girl. So unaffected for a diamond of the first water."

"And you want me to dance with her…"

"Because I'm always keen to stick one in the eye of the Lannisters. And, for all your reclusive ways, you are quite sought after. Just as big a catch on the marriage mart as the Duke over there, especially now you have added your peninsular exploits to your name."

Jon grimaced. He usually avoided the Season like the plague, hating all the attention his family name garnered. But he looked at Rhaenys pleading face and sighed. His sister had a soft spot for lost causes. She hated to see anyone put down. It came from years of seeing her maternal family sneered at for their foreign blood. "Okay, I'll dance with the chit."

She patted his arm. "That's the ticket, brother dearest."

* * *

Sansa tried her hardest not to blush under the stares of those around them and her thoughts off the strong arm that was currently residing around her waist. She had heard of Lord Snow, the enigmatic youngest son of House Targaryen, who usually kept himself secluded on his estate in the far north, unlike his social older siblings, Rhaenys and Aegon, who were at the centre of the _haute ton_.

His entry into London this Season had been talked about for weeks. Rumours that his father had demanded he settle down and find himself a wife after he almost died in the Peninsular. It was whispered he had led the forlorn hope into Ciudad Rodrigo because his mistress, a Spanish guerrilla, had been killed by the French the month before. Either way, he had hurt his thigh and come home a hero.

For a decorated war hero, he did not have much address. He stumbled his way through the small talk and was not as good a dancer as the Duke. Sansa had never been so grateful for her governess' training in the polite courtesies as she was this evening, but the grateful smiles he sent her way as she kept the conversation flowing made her efforts worthwhile. She was used to the bored expressions of the young sprigs of nobility so his unaffected air was a breath of fresh air.

The nudge to her shoulder sent her toppling into the side of Lord Snow as he escorted her off the dance floor. "Hey!" Lord Snow called out to Lord Slynt, who didn't even have the civility to turn around, let alone to check she was okay.

Laughter erupted from the nearby group of Bucks, all cronies of the Duke of Kingsland, who gave her a malicious look and smirked at her discomfort.

"I should call him out," Lord Snow muttered.

"Oh, please don't!" Sansa said, keen to avoid being the subject of any further gossip.

"Don't worry," he said with a reassuring smile. "I still know it's not good ton to fight a duel despite my time in the army. But since when were toads like Janos Slynt accepted into polite society?"

"He's a particular friend of the Duke's and I believe he has been of service to the Dowager Duchess."

Lord Snow glowered over at the Duke of Kingsland. "When I went away it was my brother Aegon who was the leader of society, not upstarts like Joffrey Baratheon and his thugs."

"Please, my lord, it was nothing," she said.

"You are quite unhurt, Lady Sansa? My sister could go with you to the withdrawing room if you need assistance with anything."

"I am fine, my lord."

"Perhaps you would allow me to escort you to get a glass of lemonade instead?" he asked with a smile that transformed his face.

"I would like that."

The colour rose in her cheeks. Lord Snow was very gallant with the kind of manners her father had always told her to appreciate.

* * *

Rhaenys smiled at her brother through the gloom in the carriage. "So, you are planning on driving Lady Sansa around the Park tomorrow?" she asked.

"How did you hear about that already?"

"I have my ways, brother dearest."

He laughed and said, "Yes, my meddlesome sister. And don't tell me you did not wish for me to find her charming."

Rhaenys' dimples peeped out as her smiled deepened into a grin. "Aegon told me Father was nagging at you to marry. I believe Lady Sansa would do nicely."

"Steady on, Rhae, no one is talking marriage yet."

"Oh Jon, I know you better than you know yourself. You never offer to drive young ladies around the Park. Too afraid of raising their hopes."

She laughed as he pulled at his cravat in discomfort. "I bet you a Monkey you are engaged to Lady Sansa by the end of the season."

"Rhaenys!" Jon exclaimed. "I'm shocked. What would Father say?"

She rapped his knuckles with her fan. "You don't fool me, brother dearest, it takes a lot more than that to shock you. And you know full well that Father puts all my bad behaviour down to my foreign blood."

Jon threw his head back and laughed.

"Don't forget to send Lady Sansa a posy of flowers tomorrow," Rhaenys said, pleased to see her brother laughing once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: These are connecting drabbles rather than plotted chapters, so things can be missing and there are jumps in time.**

* * *

He recognised the maid as soon as he heard the confrontation in his lobby, after he strode out of his library demanding why his butler felt the need to cause such a ruckus in his house.

"Kitty, is it not? Lady Sansa's maid?" he asked, once he had ushered the tearful maid into his library.

His butler, Edwards, known as Dolorous Edd amongst the other staff had muttered the whole time about how letting stray maids into an establishment was never a good thing, until Jon had finally snapped, "Hush," at him and sent him away for a glass of milk for Kitty.

"Yes, milord," Kitty replied.

"How can I help you, Kitty?"

"It's Lady Sansa, milord, she's gone to the masque at the Pantheon with Sir Petyr Baelish."

"The Pantheon?" he asked sharply.

The Pantheon was a lavish building on the south side of Oxford Street. It comprised of saloons and a large ballroom that held masques. Before the original building had burnt down, it had been patronised by the _haute ton_, but now it was frequented by a mixture of demi-reps, aspirants to fashion and young sprigs of fashion kicking up larks. No young lady of good repute should be found there.

"I tried to warn her, milord," Kitty said, ringing her hands. "But I fear Sir Petyr had put in her mind that no harm could be come from attending such a venue."

Jon swore under his breath. Lady Sansa was such an innocent that she would not be aware of the danger of being seen in such a venue. _Or with such a cad_, he thought.

Sir Petyr was one of the murkier characters who hung on the outskirts of the _haute ton_, a Captain Sharp, making himself useful in matters of money lending and finding the latest gaming hell. Jon had marked his presence in the Countess of Arryn's drawing room several times, but he had not seen him near Lady Sansa. He had thought the rake was making up to the wealthy widow, but maybe Lady Sansa had been his target all along.

"Lady Arryn has not gone with them?" he asked.

Kitty shook her head. "No, she has a mild stomach disorder and thinks Lady Sansa has gone to the Rosby ball." She cast her eyes down then before continuing. "I didn't know where else to come, milord. But Lady Sansa, she doesn't really know the ways of the ton. A sweeter, kinder hearted mistress, I couldn't have asked for."

"You did the right thing, Kitty. Now, you drink up the milk Edwards will bring you and I'll get Pyp to walk you home."

* * *

Sansa eyed the deteriorating crowd with some consternation. "Surely we should return home now, Sir Petyr?"

"Nonsense, my dear. The night is still young and you said you wished to see a masked ball."

She looked doubtfully around her. "I did not imagine it to be like this."

Sir Petyr threw his head back and laughed before his arm tightened on her waist and brought her far closer to him than decorum allowed. _I really ought to have listened to Kitty,_ she thought miserably. But Sir Petyr had made it sound like such a harmless lark that she had assumed Kitty was overreacting.

But as soon as they had arrived, Sansa had known this was not somewhere she should be but Sir Petyr had ignored her oft repeated requests to leave. It had left her with a poorer opinion of her aunt's friend. He had always seemed so pleasant whilst visiting the Arryn house in Grosvenor Square, his interest in her progress during the season appearing nothing more than avuncular. But his behaviour here had proved otherwise.

She breathed a sigh of relief as he removed his arm from her waist and led her back off the dance floor. _Maybe I can convince him to take me home now_, she thought.

"Would the lady do me the honour of this dance?" a low voiced asked, startling Sansa out of her reverie.

Sansa looked up to see a stranger in a black domino flourish a bow. There was something familiar about his stance but it wasn't until he straightened and she saw the grey eyes peer out of his mask that she knew who it was.

Lord Snow! What on earth was he doing here? Sansa wished the ground would open up and swallow her, so intense was her mortification at being caught in such a place. But just as she was feeling even more miserable, he shot her a reassuring smile.

"I do not think so, sir, we were just-" Baelish started to say before she cut across him.

"I would love to dance, sir," she said and before Baelish could raise any further objection, she had tucked her arm through his and was leading him back on the dance floor.

The arm that encircled her waist for the next waltz was familiar and welcome. The correct distance was maintained and Sansa automatically felt safe.

"Lord Snow," she said with a hitch in her voice. "Whatever you are thinking, I can explain."

"Don't worry, Lady Sansa. Your maid, Kitty, came to me. She was worried that you were not fully aware just what sort of establishment this was."

Relief washed over her at his understanding and any annoyance she could have felt at Kitty's presumption was lost in the realisation that Lord Snow did not feel any disgust towards her. She did not know why, but Lord Snow's good opinion mattered to her. He had been so kind over the last few weeks, helping wash the sting of the Duke of Kingsland's behaviour away. Under the auspices of him and his sister, Rhaenys' patronage, Sansa had started to find her footing once more, her pleasure at finally having a season rediscovered.

"Would you mind escorting me back to my aunt's house, my lord?"

He squeezed her hand a little. "That's what I've come to do."

* * *

An hour later, Jon waved Edwards away as he returned home.

"But my lord-" Edwards started to say.

"Not now, Edwards," he said shutting the library door in his butler's face.

"If it isn't my little brother, the knight in shining armour," his sister's voice said from the far side of the room.

He turned to find her tucked up a chair, her feet swept underneath her exquisite ballgown.

"Your dress is sadly crushed, you know," he said by way of reply.

"I'm not sure it's my colour anyway."

Jon laughed at that. Rhaenys fashion sense was impeccable and she would never wear an unbecoming gown.

"Did the Lady Sansa return home safely?"

He should be surprised, he really should. But a lifetime of living with Rhaenys had inured him to the fact that she always knew what was happening. It was a habit that she had honed even further once she had taken her place at the top of the _haute ton_. Their brother, Aegon, had once remarked that the Duke of Wellington should make use of her and employ her in the Peninsula as a spy.

He nodded. "I don't think she will be trusting Sir Petyr Baelish any time soon, either."

"That is for the best," Rhaenys said. "Better to cut that connection before the engagement is announced."

"There is no engagement," he said in the tone of someone weary from repeating the same thing.

"Oh, there will be, little brother, there will be."


	3. Chapter 3

"Princess Rhaenys, my lord," Edwards said in that deadpan tone of his.

Jon's head lifted from the book of poetry he was currently reading, ensconced in his study, before a cosy fire, a whiskey in his hand. He had been back in his town house for a little over three hours and he wanted nothing more than to relax after the last two days of travel he had undergone. His temper had already been frayed before he had set out and he was in no mood to deal with yet another member of his meddling family, having already sent Aegon away.

"No, Ed-" he started to say before his butler was elbowed out of the way and his sister stood on the threshold dressed up the nines.

"Ah good, Aegon said you were back in Town," she said, as way of an introduction.

He shot his sister a fulminatory glance that had no visible impact, instead causing the dimples in Rhaenys' cheeks to peep out.

"He also said you were sulking and angry with me. What I have done, little brother?"

"You wrote to Father about Lady Sansa and this engagement you've cooked up. He visited me at Castle Black and amongst the congratulatory phrases about finding a girl of impeccable heritage and wealth, there was a stern warning that if I ended the season without a fiancée then there would be Dire Consequences. I was to return to Town post haste and, if necessary, speak to Aegon about how to make myself pleasing to the opposite sex."

There was a stifled giggle that had Jon's eyebrows descending into a scowl. "Oh Jon! Don't go all sullen, for goodness sake! And I think it very uncharitable of you to blame me for telling Father. As if I needed his ham-fisted attempts to push the matter."

"It wasn't you?" he asked.

"I think_ I_ should be offended that you would think I would be behind such a paltry attempt to get you to the sticking point. Although I am grateful you are back. I need your help."

"Rhaenys, I got here a few hours ago. I am in no fit state for company."

"Tosh, little brother. Now be a dear, and go and get dressed. You are escorting me to the Opera."

And with that, Rhaenys hustled him out of the doors and upstairs to his dressing room.

* * *

Sansa's heart was pounding rapidly as Lord Snow handed her into one of the remaining seats. She had not seen him since the Pantheon Incident and had worried that his no longer coming to the house had been because of a lingering disgust at her behaviour. She had shed more than a few tears into her pillow thinking that she had ruined his good opinion of her forever.

Once Aunt Lysa had heard the truth about her outing with Sir Petyr, she had been shocked, and had denounced Sansa in such stringent terms that Sansa had cried. When Lord Snow had failed to call in the following days, Aunt Lysa had concluded that he must have washed his hands of her and that no one would offer for her now a second eligible suitor had called off.

She shot him a sideways glance and her heart sank as he sat frowning at the stage. He had been preoccupied since the Targaryen carriage had called to pick her up and she almost wished that she could swap places with Lady Arianne and sit with his brother Prince Aegon instead.

She had originally been flattered to be included in Princess Rhaenys' plans, especially once she had learnt just how exclusive the party was. Aunt Lysa had been all smiles, a rare occurrence now that Sir Petyr no longer hung around the house, something she had blamed Sansa for, and had sent her own maid to do Sansa's hair. But whilst Princess Rhaenys traded witticisms with Lord Tyrion Lannister, and Prince Aegon flirted outrageously with his cousin, Lady Arianne, Lord Snow sat silently at her side.

"Do you not like the opera, Lord Snow?" she finally asked, the silence between them grating on her nerves so much she had to break it.

Her question seemed to draw him from his thoughts and he smiled apologetically. "I am dreadfully sorry, Lady Sansa, I'm afraid I am being a terrible companion this evening. You see, I have only just returned to Town."

"Oh," she replied, relieved that he had not been in London and avoiding her. "Were you out of Town for long?"

"I had some business on my estates to attend to. I left the morning after I last saw you and have only just returned this afternoon."

Her heart soared and she found a smile came more easily to her face. "And now you have been obliged to come to the Opera."

"I admit, I didn't realise Rhaenys had organised a party and if I had known, I probably would have begged off. But then it would be shame if such a beautiful girl as yourself were left to sit alone."

Sansa raised her eyes shyly to Lord Snow's, unused to hearing compliments from him. He was always friendly, but whilst she was very sure her affections for him were engaged, he had given no hint that he looked upon her as anything other than an agreeable companion to pass time with.

"A shame indeed," he said, his hand finding hers as the curtain on the stage rose. Her heart skittered as his fingers entangled with hers and warmth seared through her gloves.

* * *

Rhaenys watched as Jon lowered his head and whispered something in Lady Sansa's ear, causing the redhead to blush adorably. She shot her other brother an amused glance and mouthed, "And you doubted me."

Aegon rolled his eyes and shrugged, but grinned as he, too, watched Jon painfully flirt with the young debutante.

_You have your uses at times, Father,_ she thought, smiling at how her plans to get Jon back to the capital in time for this party had come to fruition.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Apparently I cannot leave this world alone. Please excuse any mistakes as this is not beta'd. **

* * *

"I have heard a rather interesting snippet of information," Rhaenys said quietly, coming up to Jon as he stood watching the dancers at the Peasbody ball, although in reality, he stood watching just one couple glide around the dance floor. He only had eyes for the auburn haired beauty who was currently smiling up at Justin Massey.

"The comings and goings of the _haute ton_ fail to entertain me," he said austerely.

"Oh, you underestimate my understanding of you, Brother Dearest. This coming is rumoured to concern you."

For a moment, Jon had a nightmare vision of his father descending onto the capital and standing over him as he proposed to Sansa Stark.

"It is said that Lady Margaery's eldest brother, Lord Willas, the heir to the Tyrell earldom, has arrived in Town."

"I fear you overestimate my interest in such things," Jon said. "If he has come then it must be to attend his sister's engagement ball."

"That is the primary reason, yes, but I am told that he has decided to take a wife."

Jon's eyebrows rose at this. "And this concerns me because _you_ are planning to marry him?"

Rhaenys snorted inelegantly, causing Jon's lips to quirk up. He never loved his sister more than when she forgot to play the society hostess. "Silly boy," she said, tapping him sharply on the forearm with her fan. "I don't ever plan to marry again."

Jon wished he had missed the little frown that briefly marred his sister's face. Father had married her off to a distant cousin before she had even had a chance to enjoy a season, the protests of both himself and Aegon falling on deaf ears. _It is something that has been planned from their cradle,_ their father had argued, _and Rhaenys has always known about it_. That may have been the case, but it had not made the marriage any happier.

"But I do hear the Tyrells would dearly love to celebrate a second Stark-Tyrell union," Rhaenys said, interrupting his thoughts.

"A second-" Jon said before he fell silent, the penny dropping. His eyes swung away from his sister and back to the girl who had occupied his thoughts lately. "They want him to marry Sansa Stark."

"I thought you should be made aware," Rhaenys said quietly before she turned with a gracious smile to Lord Royce, who had come to claim her hand for the next dance.

* * *

Sansa dearly liked her soon-to-be sister, but she did wish Lady Margaery would stop partnering her with eligible men. Sansa was sure the astute widow knew that her heart was already engaged, the homily she had delivered just yesterday about the importance of not wearing one's heart on one's sleeve or pinning all one's hopes on a confirmed bachelor had all but corroborated this belief. But if Margaery was looking to pair Sansa up with someone other than Lord Snow, then why was she throwing her together with the dullest sticks?

The riddle was solved as Sansa walked in the Park with her maid. She saw Lady Margaery dash past in a very smart curricle, the handsome brown curly hair of the man holding the reins declaring his kinship to her brother's fiancée. Catching a glimpse of her, Lady Margaery tapped his shoulder and the curricle came to a stop.

"Sansa, what a very opportune meeting this is," Lady Margaery said, leaning down to clasp Sansa's hand between her own.

"Margaery, what a pleasure it is to see you."

"May I introduce you to my oldest brother, Lord Willas, who has just come up to Town for the ball? Willas, this is Lady Sansa Stark, quite the prettiest debutante this season, and soon to be my sister-in-law."

Sansa could not help but colour up at the extravagant compliment.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," she said shyly, as he shifted the reins into his left hand and reached down to shake hers.

"As I was saying, seeing you in the Park is providential! I am due to have a last minute dress fitting with my mantua-maker for the betrothal ball next week but I do hate to have to cut off Willas' enjoyment so soon. Would you be a dear and take my place in the curricle?"

"Oh, I do not wish to importune Lady Sansa," Lord Willas said with an engaging smile.

Margaery patted his hand indulgently before smiling conspiratorially at Sansa. "Poor Willas, it's been eons since he was last in Town. He fears that he has no acquaintances here anymore."

Every child reared by the Duke and Duchess of Winterfell knew their duty, and so it was, five minutes later, that Sansa found herself perched up next to Lord Willas, pointing out various dignitaries.

* * *

Jon tried his hardest not to stare as the curricle passed, Sansa Stark's auburn head bent close to hear what her companion was saying. He had half raised his hand in greeting, but the carriage had sped past before he had even managed to call out.

"Hmmm…now was that a direct cut or did the lovely Lady Sansa fail to see you?" His brother asked, eyebrows raised as Jon gazed after the Tyrell vehicle.

"I see no reason as to why Lady Sansa would cut me," he said mildly, pleased to note that none of the doubt currently coursing through his body was evident in his tone.

"Lord Willas is a personable man, even with his leg," Aegon said disinterestedly.

"The Tyrells are blessed with their good looks."

_And wealth and more social graces than I can boast of,_ he thought miserably. _A match with the heir to Highgarden would be welcome in all families._

"My uncle Oberyn keeps a correspondence with him. Unusual given the circumstances and the Martell history with the Tyrells," Aegon continued. "Gets all his horses from the man. Apparently, he's a genius with our four-legged friends."

Jon made a non-committal sound, uninterested in hearing about the manifold charms of Lord Willas.

Aegon might not have been as quick as Rhaenys, especially when it came to deciphering Jon's morose moods – his Northern temperament ashis older siblings laughingly called it – but he thankfully realised that this line of conversation was not welcome to his younger brother.

"But never mind about Lord Willas. I have a package from Father. I was to deliver it into your hands as soon as I arrived in Town. Ever wishful to be a dutiful son, I stopped only to change my dress before seeking you out to discharge my duty."

Aegon's appetite was famous in the Targaryen household and Jon smiled at the less than subtle hint. "You must be famished, Brother. Shall we retire to Brook Street?"

"Perfect," Aegon said, patting his stomach. "I can hand over your package there, too."


End file.
